Fight
by Kawaii Katana
Summary: Non-specific AU drabble. After having a fight with his wife, Okita Souji comes with insecurities blazing to seek her forgiveness. Inwardly reflective. Soujuru. Okichi.


He entered into their room with his head hung low, feet shuffling upon the carpet as his gaze matched the floor, more resigned to her sniffles and gaze turned from him than he would care to admit. He hadn't known what started the whole ordeal, but one snide comment led to a quip which snowballed into a full-fledged argument. He deserved to be ignored, because these things were usually his fault. She was so loving and frail, why did he have to treat her that way? Why couldn't he concede his own personality when it came to her? He loved her more than anything. What had possessed him to fight with her? These thoughts tumbled through his head as he sat at the corner of their bed, emerald eyes focused on the rosy hues of their comforter. How he wanted to be her comforter now. He was sure that all-too-familiar parasitical guilt gnawing at his stomach would finally chew a full-sized hole into his belly. _Wouldn't that be a sight to see,_ he thought sarcastically.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" He asked the question simply, but she knew it held far deeper meaning than sleeping arrangements.

Could she ever forgive him? Did she still love him? Would she allow him to hold her? All of these things asked, though never uttered. Yet, for once, she wanted to hear these things. She understood his low self-esteem and insecurities, she had married them after all, but, she still found herself wanting to hear his worries aloud. She needed to know if she held far more meaning than his own self-made pride.

"Your house, your bed, your rules," she replied softly and blandly to the wall.

"Don't be like that," he begged her quietly, scrambling internally to find something to reach over this void, to correct his unfortunate misdoings.

He felt guilty enough as it was, bordering upon self-loathing. He hadn't meant to spout off as he did. He could just imagine the wounded look in those soft brown eyes. The eyes that healed his soul and made him whole. He would do nearly anything to have those eyes shine with forgiveness and adoration again. Before he could plan his next reply, his heart spoke for him:

"Do you still love me, Chizuru?"

His eyes brimmed with regretful tears and as she turned to look at him in utter shock, his eyes remained to the blankets. He couldn't meet those eyes, not if they held any remnant of rejection. If he was in her stead, he wouldn't have suffered a moment of his nonsense. She deserved far better than him and a day didn't pass where he knew that she could have chosen far better.

Suddenly, a little warm hand caressed his cheek and he instantly leaned into the sensation, eyes closing against the tender touch. Her hand was all it took for his emotional dam to break and he pulled her tightly, possessively to his chest. His face buried into her hair as he uttered apology after apology. His heart bubbled over with grief, but she remained cooing and stroking his back as an indulgent mother would, not that he could fully relate to that notion. Still, he was reminded once again just how much he needed her. He had never felt so secure nor so at home than in the tiny arms of his Chizuru.

Her lips met his and he gently pushed her back against the bed. This was his way of tending to her wounded heart and begging for forgiveness for his ails. She tasted of love, his own heart swelling with an odd mix of passion and shame. It made him all the softer, as upon parting for a breath he dotted her neck with feather light kisses.

"I guess this is making up, huh?" She asked breathily, wrapping her legs about his torso to embrace him as thoroughly as she could, her own arms already circled around his chest.

"I don't want to make up," he whispered tenderly, leaving one lasting kiss on a particularly sweet spot, "I want to make love,"

Her eyes softened in understanding as she pulled him into another volley of tender kisses. All was forgiven, as it always was. After all, how could she deny him when his apologies were so heartfelt and his kisses so sincere?

He paused in his pursuits and rested his nose against hers, simply soaking in her presence before he continued any further. His heart was at the helm, drawing every ounce of love from her he could before pouring it back into her tenfold. He was vulnerable, at her mercy and, admittedly, rather timid. However, this awareness did not irritate him as it would have with anyone else. He was safe within their intimacy. She was allowed to see the pain and the man he truly was, biting tongue and all. He had been the one to tear at her, yet he needed affirmed and rebuilt as well. He wanted to be a better man, but if she didn't believe he was worth it, than he would give up trying. Her opinion of him outweighed everything.

"I love you," he sighed out, smothering her into an engulfing embrace due to his stature against her petite size, "I don't know why I fight with you,"

"Everyone fights, Souji," she mumbled into his shoulder with a muffled consoling lilt, "We get under each other's skin,"

"I hate hurting you and I do it far too much," he lamented, nestling his face into her neck, "You should have married any of the others,"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head softly, running delicate fingers down his sides, "I only want Souji,"

"Then, have Souji," he murmured with feeling, his lips falling to hers once again.

Hearts intertwined and found solace as their love cascaded over the room. Togetherness healed their petty argument. Connection brought an abiding warmth as joy and tenderness surged through them. He felt realigned with her, as if their marriage vows were spoken once again. He was reminded of all the little things he adored about her. Moreover, he recalled the exceptional woman he held in his embrace. Every action was dedicated to her, the value for her he held in his heart evident within every caress. He loved her with his whole being, unable to keep anything back for himself.

Even after the lights were out and they were snuggled contentedly under the blankets, he still held her fast in his arms, a cheek resting over her heart. As he listened to the rhythm of love, he felt peace envelope his soul. He smiled serenely, stroking a hand through her hair. He loved that hair, and he loved his woman, inside and out. She was healing that wounded child within him, gradually over each day. He was utterly grateful for her devotion and swore to be a better man, if only for her sake.


End file.
